


0100 Hours Military Time

by needs_more_horseradish



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Gen, I'm genuinely sorry, Inappropriate Humor, Season/Series 01, midnight snacking brings people closer together, no really, questionable choice of seasoning, that's not usually how you talk to your supervisor, the therapeutic effects of a platonic bitch-fest, what I'm saying is vulcan cuisine screws up your taste buds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 15:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13616034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/needs_more_horseradish/pseuds/needs_more_horseradish
Summary: Sometimes you need to talk to somebody who is just as angry as you.Takes place after episode 14; The War Without, the War Within





	0100 Hours Military Time

**Author's Note:**

> Regardless of what gets discussed in this fic, this is by no means meant to be an "Anti Ash Tyler"-fic. This is a terrible situation for him too. This is just about these two people letting off steam.

**It's 0100 hours** and Michael Burnham is restless.

 

There are approximately fifteen or sixteen things she doesn't want to think about right now. She could try to sleep, of course, but there is Tilly. Tilly is, bless her from the bottom of Michaels' heart, _concerned_ and wants to _talk_. And that's just all around a No right now. So she goes for a long walk instead, pacing up and down the lenghts of the Discovery.

 

She had expected to find the mess hall empty and in darkness, but as it turns out there's still a single dimmed light above one of the tables, occupied by Lieutenant Stamets, several PADs and a coffee cup from which steam is no longer rising.

 

"Lieutenant!" Michael isn't surprised, exactly, but still inconvenienced. She had hoped for a bit of solitude, away from the going-ons of the night shift. "I'm sorry, I didn't know somebody else was here-"

"Oh." Stamets takes a deep breath and glances at his notes as if he sees them for the first time in years, before he looks at the clock at the wall. "That's alright. I forgot the time. Please, come in. It's not like I own the mess hall. Even though, it may look like it." He starts to clear his PADs aside as Michael steps nearer. "Can't sleep?"

Michael faintly raises an eyebrow. "I could ask you the same question."

"Me? No, I'm just a stranger to the concept of chucking it in. You on the other hand, you love your routines. So why are you not tucked in and counting sheep?"

 

 

 **It's 0105 hours** and Michael orders warm milk for two and a plate of cookies.

"Cookies? At this time?" Stamets protests as she carries over the tray.

"I believe that is what it constitutes as a _midnight snack_ ", Michael offers as she places the tray on the middle of the table and passes Stamets one of the warm mugs. Stamets in turn peeks into his milk and sniffs at it. "Cinnamon?"

"Saffron"

"What an appalling idea", he says and takes a sip. "What's in the cookies?"

"Cranberries", she points at the arrangement of brighter cookies on the left side of the plate, then at the darker one to the right, "walnut."

"I'll stick to the cranberries then. I'm allergic to nuts." Stamets takes another gulp.

 

And maybe it's because everything is terrible, because Michael feels torn up inside and tired and absolutely starved for laughter. Maybe she is going insane for a second there, but she looks stone cold at her superior officer and says: "Doctor Culber didn't mind?"

 

And Stamets _snorts_. Michael can see actual driplets of milk shooting out of his nose before his hand goes up to wipe them away, putting the mug down quickly. He snickers into the back of his hand while his face turns red, snickers until tears come and he gasps for air. "That was terrible", he breathes, "Shame on you."

 

"I only meant", Michael hurries, "if you don't have any medicine for that? I understand the development of anti allergy medicine in recent years-"

"Nooononono, don't try to wuss out now. I now exactly what you meant!" He wipes the tears from his face with the sleeves of his jacket and takes another deep breath. "I mean, holy cannoli, Burnham, are you even allowed to say stuff like that? Don't you get your Honorary Vulcan card revoked now or something?"

 

At that Michael's face resolves with a "pfff"-sound, and both of them burst into desperate giggles.

 

 

 **It's one thirty** and Stamets stares into his mug so he doesn't have to look at Michael, who listens intently.

"I know it's unfair and all that" Stamets says, "but I know people are talking to him, Tilly, and Detmer and..." he sighs. "I wish they didn't."

 

"Tilly means well", Michael says.

"Of course she does. They all mean so terribly well. I just- just- just- Urgh!" his eyes grow wide and his hands grapple angrily with nothing.

 

Michael puts her half-eaten cookie down and considers for a moment. "Do you feel like", she finally asks, "taking something heavy, Ash Tyler- shaped and just... hurling it down a cliff?"

Stamets clicks his fingers at her with new-born determination. "That's it! That's exactly how I feel!"

 

They both nod in excitement.

 

 

 **It's a quarter to two** and Michael is _livid_.

 

"I feel for him, I _do_ ", she rambles, she knows she rambles, but what must out must out. "What he's been trough is beyond comprehension, I _know_ that, but after what he did to me..."

"Yes", Paul says.

"And then he has the nerve, the audacity to throw _all that_ at me and I just – how dare he? I get that he's lost but..."

"No, I hear you, you have all right to be angry", Paul says, "you can't ignore that for his sake. Absolutely." And he drains the rest of his milk.

 

"Yes! And everyone wants me to be the one who cleans up this mess, but really what I want to do, deep down, is..." She closes her eyes and breathes in, bracing herself to let out the truth. "I just want to yell about it, and yell, and yell and never stop!"

 

"Hmh", Paul says.

 

 

 **It's two in the morning** and Michael and Paul feel _so_ drained. They are slumped in their chairs and stare at nothing.

 

"I hate being in my quarters", Paul murmurs. "I'm there and Hugh isn't. It's empty and I can't... I just can't. So I just change my clothes and I get out and work. I can't stop and think about him being gone. I'm afraid that..." and he swallows hard and looks stoically into the distance.

"I'm afraid that when I stop, I truly realise what happened, and then I have to deal with it and. I don't want that. I don't want that to heal. I want Hugh to stay with me."

 

Michael strokes his arm and doesn't know what to say.

 

 

 **It's half past two** and Paul listens mournfully to Michael searching for words.

 

"...betrayed. Not even that, but... what's the old expression? Thrown under an automobile?"

" 'Thrown under a bus', I think." Paul tries.

"Right. As if it doesn't even matter. Someone made this horrible, _horrible_ decision, and I got swept up with it and now I feel like I'm just expected to be fine with it."

 

"You've really been dumped on."

 

"Yes! I've been dumped on! Thank you!"

 

 

 **It's inhumanely early in the morning** asPaul and Michael finally leave the mess hall.

 

"I will try to get some sleep before my shift begins", Michael says.

Paul nods. Rubs his face. "And I'll do... something, I guess."

 

Michael grabs Paul by the arm and they quickly give each other a solidary squeeze before they walk off in opposite directions.

 


End file.
